v4mp

𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞, 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝟏𝟐 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟐. ᴘᴏꜱᴛɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ꜰᴜɴ 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

[v4mp-re]

When did you get hot?

SUMMARY: After losing sleep over the events that took place over dinner, you find something more than the comfort you were seeking in the arms of your brother.

ᴛʀᴏᴘᴇ: Aemond Targaryen x Targtower! fem! reader

WORD COUNT: 2.2K

T.W: Targcest, making out, morally ambiguous, reader and Aemond don't do much pass kissing, slight negative connotation on the view of god, Incest (sibling relationship), sexual tension, explicit implications, emotional manipulation, morally dubious themes, canon divergence.

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ: @cafekitsune

It was never supposed to be this way.

He was your brother. Your own blood. And yet somehow the feel of your fingers threading through his silky locks could never evade you.

’Twas the night of the ninth moon—the hour of the crow, nonetheless— and despite your efforts, your attempt at finding repose remained fruitless. It was unlike you to stay awake this late, the gods would have blessed you with rest by now on any other night. Tonight however, sleep seemed to be right out of reach.

To say you had tried was an understatement of your efforts. You had done every method that had serviced you before as well as whatever the maesters had advised. Yet , your mind kept roaming back to the way your nephews had laughed the minute a pig was placed in front of your brother at dinner.

Frustrated, you sat up, silken hair falling in tangled waves as your nightgown slipped loose against your skin. Restless and sleepless, a strange sensation you hoped to never be acquainted with. The Red Keep slept — all but one within its stone walls.

It was a curious bond you shared — from a childhood spent in each other’s orbit to the distance that now lay between you. It wasn't a matter of the gods — but rather time — that had kept the two apart, that and the cruel nature of your thoughts. As the two had grown, their paths — once combined — now diverged into separate roads.

He who had always been the more reckless out of the two had continued down that path of chaos and bloodshed. While you, had taken a path vastly different, nurtured and sculpted by your own mother towards the path of the gods.

It was rather ironic to say the least. You and Aemond had once mocked your mother's naivety in believing in the gods when there was no such proof of them — the two finding belief to be a rather disdainful act. That was until you had bled for the first time when you were the age of ten and two, in which your mother has found it a necessity to raise you in the manner a 'proper' lady should. Stripping you away from the presence of your brother dearest before raising you as though a Hightower lady, and not a Targaryen princess who'd had too much of her brother's influence.

The winds seemed to howl louder now, almost as if rejoicing in your state of solitude. Having had enough of feeling so helpless, you swung your legs over the bed, tugging your nightgown close as you rose and crossed toward the wooden doors of your chamber.

The gods had blessed you: the King’s Guard who should have stood watch outside your door, had found himself absent tonight. His post deserted at the very moment you chose to slip into the Red Keep’s hushed corridors.

As you moved through the corridor, you knew well enough where your steps would lead—knew too that wisdom urged you back to the safety of your chambers. Yet still your feet carried you onward, toward the place your heart had once feared to tread. Shadows stretched along the stone walls, your footsteps not nearly as loud as the pounding of your heart.

Without granting yourself the mercy of doubt, you pressed against the heavy oaken door that guarded your destination and slipped within. Candlelight spilled warmly across the chamber, bright in defiance of the keep’s chill. It was almost as though nothing had changed. From the tapestry hanging above the four-poster bed that dominated the room, …to the very carpet upon which you had once played at being husband and wife. The room had always carried this air of familiarity, though you were unsure if the warmth came from the splendor or from the man who occupied it.

He had barely acknowledged your entrance, as though your absence had felt more out of place than your presence ever could.He sat where he always did—a table he had used for his not-so-discreet plotting against the crown— except now, answering to the affairs of the realm, a role your eldest brother should have taken on as next in line.

"Lēkia, (brother) I fear you might find yourself accused of treason if you keep planning a war that hasn't come." You spoke, voice low as you walked to where he sat. Your hands moving to rest on his shoulder as your eyes travelled down to the parchments he was so thoroughly engrossed in.

He sighs, barely even looking up from the inconvenience of having to read the letter of some lowly northern lord, though not pulling away from your touch. "Treason? Did Mother plant those ideas in your head when she whispered about the gods?" He smiles, eye flicking up to you as though attempting to figure if the girl who stood before him was the one he'd known since infancy or the shell of her their mother had used as a puppet. "Skoros gaomagon issi — ñuha hēdan, nykeā tolie? Hen ñuha ābrar belma udra ao se crown tepagon ao mērī nyke ūndegon?" (What is it you fear — my head, little sister? Or that the crown would pass you if not for me?)

"I fear your eagerness to rule makes you hasty." A smile grazed your lips as you leaned down to press a fleeting kiss to his cheek, the chill of his skin betraying the long hours he had kept vigil over his parchments. His eye lingered upon you a moment too long before you drifted toward the grand bed that dominated his chambers. "I too long for the same, Issa jorrāelagon lēkia (my dearest brother), yet the gods have not decided whether Father will live another day, while you busy yourself with planning for a future that may never come."

The hearty chuckle that escaped his lips drew your attention, a sound you had rarely heard from him outside the intimacy of your private conversations. Your gaze caught upon his figure—still hunched over the parchments, though his eye flicked to yours, watching as you settled yourself upon his bed.

“How the realm would crumble, if they knew of your late-night visits.” A smirk plastered to his face as his gaze returns back to the letter awaiting him on his desk. "And to what do I owe the pleasure? Have the gods whispered in your ear, or is it your own curiosity that drags you into my path?" He speaks, voice low as though daring you to reveal to him your true intention of visiting him so late into the night.

"Līs nyke emagon nykeā drīve naejot visit issa jorrāelagon lēkia? (Must I have a reason to visit my dearest brother?) Perhaps I simply long to see you" You teased, leaning back against the pillows that adorned his bed. "Are you planning on laying with me at all throughout the night or are you contented with the words of some lord who's only interest is to marry off his only daughter to you?"

He smiled—just barely—pulling his eye from the letter, a task made easy by the dullness of its contents. Rising from his chair, he crossed to where you sat upon his bed. Unfazed by his nearness, you shifted only slightly, denying him the satisfaction of second-guessing his choice to stand so dangerously close.

"Join me?" You whispered, eyes locked onto his with that glint of innocence the realm seemed to fall for every time — a tactic that you hoped would work on Aemond. His eye lingered on the way the silk nightgown had clung to your figure before forcing himself to place his focus elsewhere. He shifts, situating himself beside you, though his rigid posture vastly differed from your state of relaxation.

It was in that moment when you had realised that he too had been dressed in a white tunic, an outfit you had never once thought you'd see, nor the vulnerability that he possessed in an intimacy shared only between the two.

"If I had planned to whisper to you about the gods, issa jorrāelagon lēkia.." (my dearest brother) Trailing off before leaning forward in that teasing way you know would leave any man curious, let alone the one that believed he knew you like the back of his hand. "I doubt you'd be so tense."

A smile curved at your mouth as you shifted, slow enough for him to notice but not enough for him to predict. He blinked, uncertain, the brief flicker of confusion almost amusing. You leaned in — close enough for your breath to meet his skin — before finally pushing him back and slipping onto his lap, your arms curling around his neck, fingers ghosting through his pale hair.

"Nyke've missed ao." (I've missed you) You purred into his ear, shifting slightly, lips brushing against his neck in almost gentle, feather like kisses. "Muñnykeā's mirre īlva apart syt tolmiot tolī bōsa.." (Mother's kept us apart for far too long..)

Aemond felt his skin catch fire. His little sister — you — straddled him on his own bed, looking every bit the wanton thing he should have turned away from, yet couldn’t. As though his hands had a mind of their own, he found himself aching for your closeness. They steadied on your hips before pulling you toward him, letting you settle in his lap — letting you feel what had been stirring in him since the moment you stepped into his chambers in that devastatingly tempting nightgown no other man should ever see.

An amused laugh left your lips as your hands made their way around his neck, toying with his hair as your eyes never leave his. "I saw you training this morning.." your words trailing off as you tilt your head, placing tiny kisses along his jaw. “You deserve better than Ser Criston.”

He hums in response, the sound sending vibrations through you as he pulls you impossibly closer, his hand that had previously rested on your hip, moves to your waist, almost as though cherishing the feel of you so close and in such an intimate position.

"Have I made you speechless?" You smiled, teasingly nipping at his jaw before pulling back to face him. Your fingers crept up to his eyepatch — something he had not stopped you from doing — pulling the leather away before revealing the bright blue sapphire that took the place his other eye would have occupied. "Hmm" you hummed, fingers carefully brushing over the scar that had tainted the purity of his face.

His hand crept up, hesitant—almost afraid you might pull away at the mere touch. He brushed a stray lock from your face, tucking it behind your ear, his gaze never once leaving yours. "Tell me, nykeā tolie (little sister), have you any clue what you do to me? Or am I simply a monster who longs at the thoughts of filling you with my bastards?"

Caught off guard by the sheer depravity of his words, you froze, pulling back to meet his gaze — his pupil blown wide with desire, the innocence it once held now long extinguished.

"Whatever are you implying? " You mumbled, half of you already knowing what he meant yet the other half was more eager to hear him admit it once more.

"You enter my chambers, clad in nothing but your sheer night gown." He spoke, hands moving to rest on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer to him. "Sitting on my lap, testing my restraint, all while you look at me as if you were the gods themselves." He smiles, eye locked on yours before he leans forward, capturing your lips with his.

His lips pressed against yours, warm and unyielding, a heat that seemed to seep through every nerve. His hands remained firmly at your hips, not letting go, not daring to, each heartbeat between you dragging time taut. You threaded your fingers through his pale hair, tugging just enough to make him inhale sharply, a sound that sent shivers down your spine. The kiss lingered, teasing, almost daring, and yet a single inch of distance remained between your bodies, a line neither of you wanted to cross — not yet.

“Nyke despise muñnykeā syt taking ao qrīdrughagon hen issa.” (I despise Mother for taking you away from me.)

His words broke against your lips — breathless, trembling, and far too human for the man who never faltered. When he pulled back, the air between you felt charged, raw, and heartbreakingly fragile.

His fingers trembled at the silk tie of your nightgown, but you caught his hand before it could go further.

“We can’t,” you whispered, the words barely sound — not a denial, but a plea. Your thumb brushed along his jaw, a touch that soothed more than it resisted. Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his brow — a kiss that felt both like an ending and a promise.

“Not like this.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, his hand fell away, resting against your thigh — neither letting go, nor daring to hold on.

"Pār nyke shall ōregon ao ēva pār." (Then I shall hold you until then) He whispers, shifting before allowing you to lay beside him instead, holding you close before feeling the comfort of your head resting on his chest.

A sigh escaped your lips as you felt his arms encapsulate your figure. The night deepened, yet it was in the warmth of your brother’s arms that you felt, at last, where you truly belonged.

[anawritez-posts]

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 | 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - Tom Riddle calmly supervises as his youngest son, Marvolo, plays with Nagini. When Y/N discovers the scene, she sighs, reminded of similar moments with their older children.

𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 - @bernardsbendystraws

The dim glow of the late afternoon sun filtered through the heavy drapes in the Riddle manor’s sitting room, casting a golden hue over the dark wood and richly upholstered furniture.

In the middle of the room, seated on a plush, ornate rug, was a sight both peculiar and endearing.

Tom Riddle sat back in his high-backed chair, his robes immaculate and his expression cool as ever, though there was a glint of amusement in his sharp eyes.

At his feet, his youngest son, Marvolo, was squealing with delight, his chubby hands reaching out toward the massive, serpentine form of Nagini.

The great snake was uncharacteristically gentle as she slithered closer, her tongue flickering out as though to taste the laughter in the air.

She coiled carefully around Marvolo, her movements deliberate and slow, as though she understood the fragility of the small boy. Marvolo let out a high-pitched giggle, his tiny fists clutching at Nagini’s smooth, cool scales.

Tom observed the interaction with a faint smirk, leaning back in his chair. "He’s a natural," he murmured to himself.

The door creaked open, and Y/N stepped into the room, her arms laden with freshly folded linens. She froze mid-step, her gaze falling immediately on the scene before her: her husband, looking as composed as ever, and their infant son, practically cradled by Nagini’s massive coils.

Y/N let out a long, exasperated sigh, shaking her head. "Tom," she said, her tone hovering somewhere between scolding and resignation.

He looked up at her, one brow arching slightly in that infuriatingly calm way of his. "He’s perfectly safe," he said, his voice smooth and confident.

Y/N set the linens down on a nearby table, crossing her arms as she took a step closer. "Of course, he’s safe," she muttered, her eyes narrowing at her husband. "You did this with Mattheo and Delphini, too. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised."

"You shouldn’t," Tom replied evenly, a flicker of amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. "They all need to learn. Nagini is part of this family."

Y/N sighed again but made no move to intervene. Instead, she watched as Marvolo let out another gleeful laugh, his tiny hands patting Nagini’s head as though she were a common household pet. The massive snake responded by lowering her head closer to him, her eyes glinting with what Y/N could only describe as affection.

Just then, the door opened wider, and Mattheo and Delphini entered the room.

Mattheo immediately groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Again, Father?" he said, though his tone was more amused than annoyed. "You can’t keep using Nagini as a babysitter."

Delphini rolled her eyes dramatically but grinned as she walked closer. "Oh, let him have his fun," she said, crouching down beside Marvolo. "We survived it, didn’t we?"

Mattheo smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. "Barely. I still remember the time she tried to wrap me up like a Christmas present."

"She was just playing," Tom interjected smoothly, his tone making it clear he didn’t appreciate the dramatics.

Delphini laughed, running her fingers along Nagini’s scales as she sat beside her baby brother. "She’s harmless. Look at her."

Marvolo squealed again, clearly delighted by the attention. Delphini gently tickled his belly, making him giggle even more, while Mattheo finally relented, stepping forward and crouching beside them.

"Fine," he said with a mock sigh, ruffling Marvolo’s soft hair. "But if she tries to eat him, I’m not getting involved."

Nagini, as if understanding the comment, flicked her tongue in Mattheo’s direction, and he laughed.

Y/N leaned against the doorway, shaking her head but smiling as she watched her family.

There was something oddly heartwarming about the sight—her three children laughing and playing together, with Nagini of all creatures joining in. Even Tom, ever the aloof and calculating figure, seemed more at ease in this moment, his eyes fixed on his children with a quiet pride.

Delphini picked up Marvolo, balancing him on her hip as she looked up at her mother. "You know," she said with a teasing grin, "Father’s really soft for us. He’d never admit it, but this whole ‘Nagini bonding’ thing is basically his version of being sentimental."

Y/N raised an eyebrow at Tom, who simply gave her a cool, unreadable look.

Mattheo snickered, his grin wide. "He’ll deny it to his grave," he said, reaching out to tickle Marvolo’s cheek, earning another round of giggles.

"Enough," Tom said, his voice calm but commanding.

The children all looked at him, their faces amused but obedient. Y/N chuckled softly, walking over to scoop Marvolo from Delphini’s arms.

"Sentimental or not," she said, giving Tom a knowing look, "it’s good to see you all like this. Even if Nagini is playing babysitter again."

Nagini let out a soft hiss, her head tilting as though offended by the remark, earning a round of laughter from everyone in the room.

For a brief moment, the Riddle family was just that—a family, filled with love, laughter, and a little chaos, even in their own peculiar way.

[v4mp-re]

AHHHH I've been obsessed with this series since forever ❤️🫶🤭

I BETTER BE BURIED WITH PRINTED COPIES 🤭🤬

[v4mp-re]

ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴍᴇ

SUMMARY: Mattheo Riddle still wants to be your best friend, your shoulder to cry on, regardless of what happened during your relationship.

ᴛʀᴏᴘᴇ: ex! Mattheo Riddle x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

T.W: Angst, implication of drinking, mentions of losing feelings for the other party, unknowing of how to move on, slight implication of cutting people out, lack of communication between two parties, mentions smoking.

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ: @cafekitsune

Things were bound to be different.

It was something Mattheo was aware of from the moment you two crossed the threshold between just friends and lovers, yet somehow, he never anticipated that the breakup would destroy so many aspects of your relationship.

Ever since first year, the two of you were inseparable, almost as if you were conjoined at the hip. You two did everything together, from cheating off each others' potions test to both staying at Hogwarts over the holidays in fear of not having the other. For a moment, it seemed like nothing could ever come between the two of you —except yourselves. And that was exactly what had happened.

What had started off as drunken night back in 5th year — the raging green lights emitting from the party — turned into a little more than just rushed confessions and into a year long relationship. Maybe you were better off as friends.

After a few months of dating, you found yourself losing feelings for the curly haired brunette. It was something you stumbled upon when you woke up one morning and found yourself looking at the sleeping boy's figure with a lingering doubt on your mind.

Mattheo didn't give you any problems, and when he did, they were all minor issues that a flick of the wand could fix. No, he didn't do anything wrong, so why was it that the once present butterflies now disappeared? You never understood why all of a sudden, his jokes weren't as funny as how they used to be, his touches not as you remembered. The spark for you in his eyes however, remained constant with every breath he took.

Mattheo found you to be extraordinary, like an angel sent by the heavens above whilst he was a sinner, a devil, undeserving of the fruit that was your love. So no, it didn't surprise him when you broke up with him a few days after your one year anniversary. "I just think we should stay friends." Your excuse lingered in the air, a statement Mattheo never could grasp.

And now it's been months since the break up.

Your tradition to remain at Hogwarts over breaks were broken, something he only ever discovered when he knocked on the door of your dorm room, only for your roommate to inform him of your departure the night before.

How selfish of him, he thought, for taking you away from your family every year.

Mattheo was never surprised though, he knew you would find things awkward and feel guilty for how you ended things with him. He could read you like a book, even when you weren't around anymore.

Final year was hard for him. You had been there with him at the beginning of each term, always sitting in the same compartment carriage beside him, as you would go on about what you were excited for — whether about the classes or simply eager to be able to go to Hogsmeade with him again.

This year, he was met with the bickering of his best mates instead of your familiar presence. Their plans seemingly dull and repetitive in comparison to yours.

He hadn't heard from you throughout the break, his freshly bought quills and parchments gone to waste waiting for your responses, ones that never arrived. Excusing himself, he got out of the compartment carriage. He never was one to wonder the hallways of The Hogwarts Express but that was because he had everything he could ever want in the carriage with him, you.

With your absence, he could only wonder if you got on the train in time. He roams the cramped hallway, ever so slightly glancing into the carriages as he walks, hoping to spot even a glimpse of you.

He does, though the sight wasn't necessarily a welcoming one. There you were, dressed in the cloak Mattheo would always find randomly tossed on your dorm room floor, everything about you was exactly how he remembered it. Yet there you sat, in the carriage surrounded by Gryffindors, your head resting on one of the Weasley twins — one Mattheo couldn't bother remembering.

And it was then that Mattheo fear he had lost you. Your eyes glance to the door, immediately catching his and for a moment there, you swore you saw the tears welling up in his eyes —the tears he refused to let fall. Your smile fades a little and Mattheo notices it almost instantly. He wipes at his eyes with his sleeve, swallowing hard before he walks off.

Your eyes linger on the door a little longer in hopes of his return, he never did.

The two coexisted from then onwards, both acting as if the other wasn't their entire life line — as though you hadn’t seen a forever in his eyes, and as though he wouldn’t rather die than lose you from his life.

Their interactions were always kept to a minimum — a simple nod here, a smile there, but nothing more than that.

That was until the night of the Slytherin party. The quidditch match finals was earlier that day — ending with Slytherin absolutely crushing Gryffindor — which Draco took as an excuse to throw the biggest party Hogwarts has ever seen. It was your standard Slytherin rave, the pulsing of green lights, the smell of alcohol, the obnoxiously loud playing music, everything keeping up to standard in it's own way. Mattheo was situated on the couch of the common room, the cool leather green surface doing nothing to ease the urge of wanting a smoke break.

He excuses himself before exiting the common room and going to the only place he knew to go, the Astronomy Tower.

Mattheo pulls out a cigarette, bringing the familiar bud to his lips before pulling out a lighter to light said object. He's overlooking the edge of the tower, wallowing in the cold night air when the sound of sobs draw his attention.

Normally he would chase whoever it was out, but it was when he turned around to face the individual that he realised it was you, though not the you he remembered.

You sat tucked away in the corner of the tower, your body curled tightly as your sobs echoed softly around you. The sight itself enough for Mattheo to discard his cigarette, stepping on the bud before quickly moving towards you. He slowly moves to crouch in front of you, careful not to scare you as if the slightest movements would make you run.

"Can I just be left alone?" Your voice shaky with every word yet it's purpose was clear.

Mattheo's heart ached.

"What's wrong?" He spoke, his voice barely even a whisper as he stayed still, hoping that maybe, just maybe, you would open up to him like you once did.

His voice was like a homing signal for you, one you didn't know how much you missed until now. You slowly lifted your head, wanting to make sure that he was there and not just something you imagined. Your tear-streaked face met his gaze, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. His eyes, usually so guarded and sharp, were soft now, full of worry and something else—something that looked a lot like affection.

"You’re really here," you whispered, your voice trembling as if the weight of your emotions was too much to bear. The guilt of leaving him coupled with the comfort that came with his presence was something overwhelming yet welcoming.

"Of course I am," he replied, his tone steady but low, as though afraid any sudden movement might shatter whatever fragile thread held the two of you together. "I’m not going anywhere."

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers clutching the fabric of your cloak as you glanced down, unable to meet his gaze again. "I didn’t mean to hurt you," you said, your voice cracking under the weight of the truth. "I just—everything got so complicated, and I—I didn’t know how to fix it."

He was quiet for a moment, the silence stretching between you like a fragile bridge.

"I don’t even know why I’m here" you finally whispered, your voice breaking like shattered glass. "I just… I didn’t know where else to go."

When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. "Maybe you came here because you knew I’d never turn you away," he said softly. Your eyes flickered to his, seeing the emotion hidden behind them. What was normally his calculative gaze, now shown a side of vulnerability to it — one you had almost forgotten in the time apart. "I pushed you away, Mattheo. I hurt you. I ruined everything."

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his unruly curls. "Yeah, you did," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you sit here and drown in whatever’s tearing you apart. Not when I can see it’s killing you."

His words hit you like a wave, and before you could stop yourself, the dam broke. The sobs you’d been holding back spilled out, shaking your whole body. Mattheo moved closer, closing the gap between you, his hand hovering in the air for a moment before he gently placed it on your shoulder.

"You don’t have to say anything," he whispered, his voice steady despite the emotion behind it. "Just let me be here for you. That’s all I’m asking."

For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to lean into him, your head resting against his chest as your tears soaked into his shirt. His arms wrapped around you, strong and reassuring, as though he were trying to hold together the pieces of you that had shattered.

And for the first time in a while, you let him.

[v4mp-re]

𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲

SUMMARY: When your childhood best friend Theodore Nott sleeps with you one night, your feelings for him over complicate the delicacy of the situation. ᴛʀᴏᴘᴇ: childhood bestfriend! Theodore Nott x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 2.3k

T.W: Angst, mentions of lost of parental figure (mother), commitment issues, implications of sex, mentions of the word "porn", mentions of smoking, drinking and promiscuity, the word "fat" used with slight negative connotation, google translated Italian. ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ: @cafekitsune

It was as if all hell broke loose.

Ever since you've been young, your memories have been stained with that of the presence of your best friend, Theodore Nott. Influential pureblood families had to stick together, that and it just so happened that your mothers were good friends. You were about 5 when news of his mother's death came around, still remembering the tear stained cheeks belonging to none other than him.

That was the only time you'd seen him cry before.

The two did everything together, from getting their Hogwarts acceptance letters to getting sorted into the same house and forming a friend group of their own.

The group worked as sort of a combination of both your close friend groups, yours consisting of Pansy and Astoria and his of Mattheo and Lorenzo. It was just the 6 of them for a while until Pansy introduced Draco, who brought Blaise with him, and eventually joined the group as well.

Things changed in 5th year.

What at first seemed like Theodore reconnecting with his mother's death and coming to terms with it, turned into smoking, obsessive drinking and even whoring around. It wasn't something you necessarily expected either, growing up, he was always that chubby kid that you'd befriend but always depised when it came his turn to sit on the swing. Now however, he was different. He had grown, obviously, but puberty laced with Mattheo's influence, shaped him into the man he is today. And as much as you hated to admit it, he was gorgeous.

Theodore Nott. The very boy you grew up with, was now this tall, rich, Italian pureblood, slytherin boy that every girl wanted to get with, far from the ''fat geeky kid'' he used to be.

So what else could he do other than to embrace it?He had never gotten this much attention before and it wasn't as if the girls of Hogwarts were all a pain to look at, plus, Mattheo had showed him enough porn to know what to do, right?

His inexperience wasn't known to you. Surely you thought he had slept with you with the intention of wanting to get together, afterall he was your bestfriend and you both knew each other practically your whole lives. So you took his drunken kiss as a confession, the way his hands slid into your hair, how his tongue slid itself into your mouth, down to the way he looked at you as you laid there bare for him for the first time.

You should have known better.

By the time you woke up, he was gone. His presence almost non existent, except for the faint smell of him still lingering in the air, the only indicator that what happened last night wasn't a wild dream of yours. You thought nothing much of it, getting ready when the sight of your skin littered with hickeys made you freeze. You weren't drunk but you weren't necessarily sober last night either, for it being both your first times, it surely didn't felt like it. Your bodies felt like they were made for each other, and in a way you were conviced you were too.

You got ready, making sure to cover up the bruises claiming your neck as you walked to the great hall. You had been friends long enough to know that Lorenzo's love for the school's food had rubbed off on the others as well. You knew exactly where to look.

Though the sight you were greeted with wasn't necessarily pleasant.

Sitting at where you usually did, was Daphne Greengrass, a gorgeous blonde slytherin that just so happened to be the same year as you guys. Theodore's arm drapped right across her shoulder.

Mattheo, whom was previously in a conversation with Theodore, spots you almost instantly. He smiles that charming grin he always carried, one that you grew to adore, before calling you over. Theodore doesn't even glance.

With your original seat currently occupied by a girl, of which none if them had ever talked to prior, you sat beside the spare spot near Mattheo, who immediately pulls you closer to him by your hips. A gesture you normally would pull away from, yet the sight of Theodore being so cozy with another girl after the night you too had together was a new kind of pain you wish you never knew.

The insistent giggles coming from Daphne felt like a knife getting plunged deeper and deeper into your chest, knowing that the reason for said giggles was the man beside her, so carelessly whispering in her ear as his hand played with her hair.

''You're awfully quiet.'' A voice that unmistakably belonged to no other than Lorenzo. His eyes ever so slightly flickering to the way Mattheo's hand was still snaked around your waist, in which his fingers were carefully drawing patterns against the fabric of your skirt.

''I'm just tired'' You spoke, a slight smile gracing your features though your words carried a certain innuendo to it, one only Theodore could pick up, one which he ignored so openly.

Mattheo's low chuckle unmistakable, his arms moving to wrap around your waist, head nuzzled in the spot between your neck and shoulder. His breath ghosting against the surface of your neck.

Your eyes flickered to Theo, who, would once immediately tell Mattheo off, now sat occupied with the pretty blonde. His eyes fixed on hers like she was the only person that mattered. The glimpses of the night prior, the way he looked at you, how he treated you with such care, now a fleeting memory.

You felt used. Like Theodore had taken advantage of your friendship together and used it as a cheap way to test out what he already knew. Toying with a lot more than you had let on.

It was then on that you decided to distance from the Italian, something he had barely noticed until he strolled into the potions classroom, after flirting with random girls throughout the whole duration of the morning, to an empty spot which you normally occupied.

It was abnormal to him, you were his potions partner, his seat mate that allowed him to copy off you on tests, the one person who could help him pass the class, yet there you were, sitting with Mattheo instead of him.

It wasn't as if finding a new seatmate was hard, almost immediately, a brunette ravenclaw sat beside him, her friends giggling from the seat behind her, but she wasn't you.

As the class went on, Theodore found himself looking your way. His eyes would linger on the way you ever so carefully measured the ingredients and placed them to the side, a gesture that his current partner didn't care to do. How you laughed when Mattheo so dropped the eye of newt in an attempt to flirt with you.

It infuriated Theodore, but god was he too stubborn to admit it.

The smell of alcohol reeked the common room, the blasting of the music through the speakers weighing heavily on the countless of sweaty, intoxicated teenagers present, all of which, unbothered by it.

Draco had thrown possibly the 4th party in the past 4 months, all of which, you had previously attended on Theodore's insistence. This time, it was on someone's insistence, though not his.

Heels clicking with every step, you weaved towards the familiar green leather couch situated in front of the fireplace. Spotting your usual friend group, all of which slightly drunk and possibly high.

Mattheo, ever the observant, spots you almost immediately.

''For a second there I thought you wouldn't show'' His voice laced with amusement, it was clear he had probably been drinking prior, the scent of alcohol lingering with every breath he took.

He doesn't await a response before wrapping his arm around your waist, an action that doesn't go unnoticed by Theodore Nott, who in turn, pushes off the slytherin girl who was previously seated on his lap, before abruptly standing up.

You knew better than to follow after him, that Theodore Nott was no longer any of your business, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't care about him anymore.

Moving out of Mattheo's grasp under the excuse of wanting a drink, you made your way to the one place you knew Theo would be.

Theodore knew you'd come after him, you always have. The clicking of your heels an echoing reminder of your fleeting friendship. The once obnoxiously loud music now muted by the glass of the common room balcony.

You knew he'd be there, he always was. "Why are you doing this to me?" He spoke, his gaze fixed on the moonlight that reflected off the black lake, now even darker. The only flicker of light coming from his lighter as he brings it to the cigarette hanging off his lips.

"Doing what Theodore?" You spoke, your tone unconsciously laced with irritation and an air of indifference to his dishriveled appearance.

He pulls the cigarette away from his mouth, letting out a trail of smoke in it's path.

"Cazzo. (fuck) You know what I mean! You and Mattheo! Mio Dio, mi sta facendo impazzire!" (My God, it's driving me crazy) He turns to face you and for the first time tonight, you catch a glimpse of his expression.

It's been years since you've seen Theodore Nott cry, and yet here he was.

He moves towards the lounge chair, sitting at the edge, cigarette long forgotten. His shoulders shake with the kind of sorrow that you've only ever saw once in your life, his face buried in his hands.

"È come se ti stessi perdendo." (It's like I'm losing you) He mumbles ever so slightly, looking up for the first time as his gaze catches yours.

You knew there was no turning back. With your resolved crumbling at the seams, you moved to sit beside him on the chair. "I can't lose you, né a Matteo, né a nessuno" (not to Mattheo, not to anyone)

His cheeks were tear-stained as he stared out toward the lake. The party music in the background had grown faint, almost as if the world itself had narrowed to just the two of you.

But you weren’t having it.

"This isn't fair. You can't just sleep with me and then act like nothing happened! You can't just toss me aside like I was nothing and then get mad when Mattheo suddenly takes interest in me!"

"I don't get why you're bringing up that night we slept together. non è stato un grosso problema." (it wasn't a big deal)

"It was a big deal!" Your voice cracked, the weight of your emotions pouring out with every word.

"And why’s that?!" he snapped back, his voice sharp and defensive, but there was something else there—something unspoken, trembling beneath his anger.

"Because I love you!" The confession tore from your chest like a wound finally bursting open, raw and unfiltered. For a moment, the world seemed to still, the air between you heavy with the gravity of what you’d just said.

He froze, his breath hitching as his eyes searched yours. You could see it—the flicker of vulnerability in the depths of his gaze, the way his jaw tightened as if trying to hold back a storm of emotions.

"You love me?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper now, as though the words were too fragile to say out loud.

"Yeah," your voice trembling but resolute. "I have loved you ever since first year, and it's killing me that you're pushing me away and acting like nothing happened!"

"Yeah, well, maybe I’m pushing you away because I don’t know how to stop myself from destroying everything good in my life!" he snapped, his voice breaking. He stood up abruptly, running a hand through his hair as he paced in frustration. "You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t hate myself every second for the way I treat you?"

"Then stop doing it!" you cried, standing as well, your voice trembling with anger and pain. "Stop acting like you’re some broken thing that can’t be fixed. I see you, Theo. I’ve always seen you. And you’re not broken—you’re scared. But so am I!"

He stopped pacing, his back to you, his shoulders tense. "You don’t understand," he muttered, his voice low.

"Then make me understand!" you pleaded, stepping closer, your heart hammering in your chest. "Tell me why it’s so hard for you to believe that I love you. I’ve seen the parts of you you’re too scared to show anyone else. And I’m still here, aren’t I?"

He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of his own self-loathing was finally too much to carry. "I’m scared," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’m scared of what happens if I let myself believe it—believe you. Because what if I lose you? What if I ruin it?"

"You’re already losing me," you said softly, tears slipping down your cheeks now. "Every time you push me away, every time you act like this—like we don’t matter—you’re losing me a little more."

For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze fixed on the ground. Then, slowly, he looked up, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

"I don’t want to lose you," he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his confession.

"Then stop pushing me away," you pleaded, taking another step closer. "Stop pretending you don’t feel this too."

He hesitated, his lips parting as if to argue, but then he closed the distance between you in one swift, desperate motion. His arms wrapped around you tightly, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself break in your embrace.

"I’m sorry," he murmured against your shoulder, his voice muffled but filled with raw sincerity. "I’m so sorry."

And as you held him, feeling the tension slowly leave his body, you knew that this was the beginning—not an easy one, but one where neither of you would have to carry the weight alone anymore.